Pep Talk
by keru.m
Summary: Harm tries to convince himself to act on a revelation about his relationship with Mac.


Disclaimer: Do not own characters, show, etc.

A/N: The fic is, admittedly, a little fun and a lot silly. There is a sequel.

**Pep Talk**

Harm stood in front of the display case, staring at the selection laid out in an elaborate setting of velvet and glass. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could so do this...Could he, though, really? Shit. He wasn't so sure any more. He had had an epiphany last night and it had hit him with the force of a mallet to the back of his head. He could have sworn that, just for an instant, a curtain had parted and clarity had stared him straight in the face. It had spurred him into action and he had vowed to himself that as soon as the stores opened the next morning he would go and he would buy Mac an engagement ring. He had given the Admiral some excuse – he couldn't remember what he had said exactly – for needing the morning off. Well, no matter. Hopefully, the excuse would come back to him by the time he did get to work. That was the least of his problems right now. After all, here he was standing outside a jewellery store in front of a display case full of rings. He could swear they were staring up at him. Mocking him. They looked like big, freaky eyes winking at him. Or maybe black holes of doom. Finger in, freedom out.

He took another deep breath. He could do this. Deep breath. He could do this. Shit. Shit. Sh- Harm suddenly noticed the security guard by the front entrance eyeing him suspiciously. It occurred to him that he must have looked odd: a middle-aged man standing in front of a store full of gold and diamonds and lifelong promises looking like he was trying to build up his nerve to do something. On second thought, that ought to be a normal scene for the security guard to witness. Harm doubted men actually walked through these particular doors giddy with uncontrollable excitement. Maybe some did. But at least a few had to enter as though there was lead in their shoes and dread in their hearts. At least one guy had to have walked in there to buy a ring for his suddenly knocked-up lay, right? Shake it, Rabb. Get it together. You are buying a ring for the woman you love. Not a one-night stand and a broken condom. He made a mental note not to include that particular thought process if – no, when – he proposed to Mac, or she'd stick the ring where it had no business being.

It was not as though she was making him buy her a ring. Hell, she did not even know he was here or that he had been visited by a moment of lucidity, in the form of a 60lb anvil, last night. She would probably laugh at his reticence if she were here. She would remind him how his impetuous nature had an uncanny knack for leading him right into trouble with a neon target sign strapped to his back. Her eyes would dance with mirth and she would give him that smile that made him want to do the stupidest things to prove himself to her. Like fly a plane blindfolded. Like dig up the biggest slug in the playground. Like marry her. Stop right there, Rabb. Wrong attitude.

Deep breath. Maybe he should just try again some other day. When he didn't feel like a herd of mustangs were trampling his insides. Maybe he should lie down. He wondered if there was a nurse's office nearby. He quite liked the nurse's office in grade school...and the nurse. She was a behemoth of a woman with shocking red hair, eyes black as night and a mole on her right cheek that unfailingly attracted his morbid fascination. But she always gave him a lollipop. There must be a candy store nearby...he reigned in his thoughts. Focus, Rabb, focus. What was he doing here? Building up the nerve to buy an engagement ring. Why? He drew a momentary blank before shaking his head vigorously. Focus, Rabb!

His thoughts zoomed in to last night. It hadn't been a particularly spectacular night by any means. If anything, he and Mac had fallen into a pattern of sorts lately. One that he - he had to force himself to admit - really enjoyed. There was a warm and familiar predictability to them that made his heart sigh with contentment. To his own mind that sounded really lame: Fighter pilot turned sap who revels in predictability. To be honest, the predictability was great because it was rare that they had these extended periods of peace. His impetuousness may have gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but for some reason putting him and Mac in the same place at the same time was like rolling a dice with the Daredevil God of the Absurd. Things were very likely to go unexpectedly and dramatically wrong. At least, that was how he was going to rationalize his sudden longing for the predictable. Crisis #1 resolved: he was not a dull domesticated sap; he was just enjoying a break from the hectic pace of his really really dangerous and very very risky job as a Naval attorney.

Where was he? Ah, yes. Last night. So last night, it was her turn to spend the night at his place. They did this most nights, schedule permitting: going to either his or her apartment. They would change out of uniform – half of his wardrobe was at her place and vice versa. That in itself was something that had just sneaked up on him. About a week ago, he had been looking for a few items of clothing in his closet – he had come across quite a few of her clothes in the process – and couldn't find them. He had asked Mac if she had seen them and she had absently replied that they were in the hamper at her apartment. He had nodded as though this were perfectly normal before stopping himself. How had this transfer of clothing happened? It wasn't a conscious move, at least not on his part. Before he could mull over that thought, he realized that he was fingering a particularly appealing lace negligee she had hung in his closet. Well, if she would leave things like that in his apartment, she could have his dirty t-shirts.

"Hey, Mac, I think you should wear this."

She had looked up at him before allowing her gaze to wander down his arm to the lingerie he was holding.

"To the restaurant?" she had asked. He saw her smile and had felt the sudden urge to show her just how high he could jump. He would probably touch the ceiling if he tried hard enough. She was bound to be impressed by that.

"No, not to the restaurant."

She had sauntered up to him, then, while slowly unbuttoning her shirt. She had placed one hand on his shoulder, the other slowly trailing down his arm, just as her gaze had a few moments earlier, to take the negligee from his all too eager fingers. She had then nipped his ear and brushed up against him as she went to change.

Crisis #2 resolved: he was not some domesticated boyfriend who was settling into a relationship without even realizing it; he was extremely virile. Hell, with all the sex he and Mac had, it was surprising his clothes didn't end up on the neighbour's balcony.

Harm breathed a sigh of relief at that before forcing his thoughts back to their comfortable pattern. They would change and then he would cook dinner while she laid the table and made salad. She would invariably insist the salad was only for him, not to her taste, after all, those leaves and rabbit food. But she would always swipe his carrots when he pretended not to be looking. The thought made him smile. He had been in an adventurous mood last night so he had experimented with some variations on her favourite pasta dish. His brain paused over the fact that he used 'adventurous' and 'pasta dish' in the same thought. What the hell. What happened to those times when he only used the term to qualify his exploits – in the air and in bed? Slow down, Rabb. He still flew tomcats and fought tough bad guys. And just last night he had arm-wrestled a marine – a very hot and very female marine. His brain seemed satisfied: he was too still adventurous. Crisis #3 resolved.

So they sat down to a dinner of salad (for him), bread (for them both), and an adventurous (he felt his younger self roll his eyes) bowl of pasta. She had lit some candles and he had savoured the sound of cutlery clinking and her breathing, the sight of candlelight flickering over her soft features and sparkling eyes. He had felt it then, the beginnings of some life altering revelation brewing somewhere inside him. He watched her intently, as though looking for a clue. As was usually the case when he indulged in staring at her, his mind wandered. Just as it was contemplating what exactly he wanted to do to her soft lips after dinner, she had broken the lulling silence that had enveloped them.

"This is great, Harm," her fork was pointing to the pasta he had generously heaped on her plate, "whatever you did with it really works."

He had smiled, feeling oddly satisfied as he watched her enjoy the meal.

"So," she had continued, returning his smile briefly before returning her attention to the pasta, "how is the Thompson case going? Found a way out of the legal minefield yet or are you going to stick to your tried and true method of giving the jury the courtroom drama they've come to crave?"

It was then that the beginnings of the revelation that he had moments ago felt floating somewhere just beyond his grasp came hurtling towards him with the full intensity of a freight train. This was something he wanted. Coming home with Mac. Making dinner together. Sharing a meal while talking about their day or the weather or whatever as long she spoke to him in that soft, casual-yet-intimate tone as though it were perfectly normal for him to be so deeply involved in her life. For one terrifying moment, he knew exactly what he wanted and she was sitting in front of him complementing his pasta. He had felt like he had been sucker punched. He had pushed his chair back from the table and struggled to breath, had struggled to remember how to breathe. He remembered thinking how odd that was; he had been breathing his whole life, it should not be that difficult.

Mac, noticing that he hadn't answered her question, had looked up only to see Harm, chair pushed back, arms outstretched, palms on the table, with the most curious expression on his face. He had looked panicked and terrified and very excited.

"Harm? What's the matter?"

His had eyes snapped up to her face. "Nothing." He had suddenly realized that he meant it and the smile on his face melted her worry away. She had probably chalked his odd behaviour to one of his inexplicable flights of mood. He would be the first to admit that his behaviour could sometimes seem incomprehensible to an observer. With time, though, she had come to take this quirk of his in stride; another one of those odd characteristic traits of his that (he hoped) added to his charm. "Everything is just about right, Mac."

She had studied him for a moment and when he widened his smile, she had shrugged and returned to her pasta.

He had watched her eat and decided this was it. He was going to go buy an engagement ring the very next day.

So here he was in front of a display case that could very well be holding the ring that would promise him to Mac for the rest of his life. He prided himself on keeping his promises, especially to her. Could he keep this kind of promise? Well, what would it entail: Loving her forever – check. Being faithful – most definitely check. Caring for her – check (not that he would necessarily frame it as such to her; marines do not need to be taken care of). Doing the whole family thing, buying a house, having kids, maybe getting a minivan, going to his parents for Christmas, taking vacations together, getting a joint bank account. He repressed his sudden craving for a lollipop and a lie down. He could so do all of that. He could try. Damn it. He was pretty sure he could try. Deep breath, Rabb, what's so terrifying about a joint bank account? Or a minivan? And it's not as though they would go on vacation in matching Hawaiian shirts, fanny packs, a strip of suntan lotion on their noses and wearing sandals over white knee socks. He didn't think they would. He damn well wouldn't allow it. Maybe he would look through her drawers for knee high white cotton socks before proposing. He shook his head vigorously. No! He would not go through her drawers. He was a grown up. And mature. And he was adventurous and virile and led a very dangerous life. It would take more than a minivan and a joint bank account and a mortgage to break him.

He squared his shoulders and took a step towards the entrance to the jewellery store. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted her to spend the rest of her life with him. He wanted to be the only male whose virility she ever experienced – he made a mental note to make that sound a bit more romantic if – no, dammit, when – he proposed. He wanted to sit across the table from her for every single dinner he ate from here on until his teeth fell out. If that meant a joint bank account, then he would get two joint bank accounts. If that meant kids, well, the kids would just be a product of their love and then they could all have dinner together. And if that meant a minivan then they would get a minivan...well, maybe an SUV-

"Sir? Can I be of assistance?"

Harm was wrenched out of his internal self-motivation seminar by a polite voice. He realized he was standing inside the jewellery store and being addressed by a sales associate.

"Yes, yes you can. I want to purchase an engagement ring. And I want to get it engraved."


End file.
